I am trying everyday
to break out of the spell
but it feels like i'm just spinning
my tires in the mud;
when your doing this all alone
it is extremely difficult to find any pleasure
or meaning in the existence that is cast in front of your eyes.
Eventually a man gets tired of watching porn
and desires something more real and tangible
eventually a man gets tired of being alone
but it can be hard to break the cycle of hermeticism
Like you are cursed forever to be solitary in the desert
Like some of black magic hex has been placed on you
Sometimes I hear the ghosts of my past
Often they whisper in my ear
Just out of consciousness
Barely audible, but present
Memories of those gone by
Now immortal in my mind
Forever they'll exist in me
Or at least as long as I live
For we are scars on the membrane of time
Carving our existence deep into it's flesh
Dying to gain immortality
Our existence tantamount to the memories of others
Stepping on split skulls and bones
Of bygone daughters and sons
We head into the abyss
Embraced by hell’s dear shadows
Reality’s mundane kiss
Welcomes us in the burrows
of Death, her friend oblivion
awaiting on the doorstep,
Laughs at Man’s every next step
Nearing the grave, the none.
Have you ever asked this question?
Who am I?
Why have I been chosen to be born?
What is my ultimate function?
It is only to serve humanity,
It is only to help the needy ones,
It is only to be compassionate,
It is only to show mercy.
If we behave humanely,
Then our job is done exclusively.
Never been the one
To stand and fight
For the dreams
That sore so high
I’m the one that hides
With fear inside
Living on burnt memories
Can’t seem to find
A fresh start
A new beginning
Without hindering hands
That grasp my sanity
Preventing me
To take a stand
I’m hurting and bleeding
From self-inflicted moods
When will I learn to love?
And heal these open wounds
How can I stop dying on the inside?
Rotting and withering away
Picking up my shattered pieces
In hope, that they’d stay
Breaking free from this hold
No longer listening to what I’m told
I’m sold on this future, meant to be
All these thoughts
Crashing down
The storm’s coming
And I’m here waiting
Can’t be hell bound
Chains wrapped around me
Screams with no sound
Sold on stories told
Silver linings and sun shine
Coming after the rain
Please erase this pain, warring
Ripping off this sorrow
Like clothes off my back
There can only be a better tomorrow
So let the rain come
Wash me clean
Swipe the things off my plate
That keep me, from me
Never ending it seems
She begins her journey, walking out into the false lights,
Having adorned herself to an image of one beauty,
Ignoring advice, warnings, of the deranged, deceitful,
Only moments take a world to shatter, to fall, crumble,
Vile violence that erupts, volcanic, molten, and caustic,
Ash settles and all stand to judge events, eyes with their truths,
No longer stoned, but still blamed--more defenders emerge.
So memories fade and justice forgotten by dinner,
As it were only necessary to eat, than to starve,
Comfort of dining strains not like emptiness to the mind,
And so breath becomes harsh, labored, ignored but still feeding,
Should the old masters know the method of rule was to board,
Lest their reign of offspring come to an end they should provide,
'Til we are drugged by our own gluttony, mind numbed to sleep.
Hail the kings of the shadows who gather gold in dim light,
They squeeze more than their fathers for every ounce within all,
Now forego wisdom of sly, quiet, rule for godliness,
Deception of beliefs creates those who believe their worth,
How a poor man may believe one day he'll rule with them too,
Ultimate trickery unto the mind who believes such,
That only they produce, deserving all silver & gold.
But still fed, bed in home, staring to dark light, 'til we're old,
Brains no longer brazenly curious, thought disappeared,
Bottled into media fed facts, fast meals the next thought,
Born to believe, no desire to question the stated truths,
Because the question begs why for, while sustained by full draught,
Become the rebel when not I suffers, the self right rules,
Before the eyes 'tis easier to turn head, than legs stand.
However, there are those who recognize and make demand,
Which calls forth the animosity of powers to be,
Striking peaceful protesters in pure misplaced mad power,
Only those who bow should not be struck, care not you or me,
So begins the slow awakening, threatened from above,
Should you wake from the slumber, risk being silenced, sliced, slain,
Strive, survive, to strike back against the slithering serpents.
Let peace find all, empowering light and love, leave out hate,
Lest it begin and bred again from desire from the dark,
Sight of the future, of those who had before, all items,
Don't fill the heart with poisoned wants promised from the fallen,
Corruption of the core, the cause caved and again sullen,
Green gems and glistening gold tugs at the shadows within,
Pulls purity out, so starts cycle of withering.
Fight against all sins that should make pride die, reborn hubris,
Disaster and desire are the same, anger and love,
Destructive and creative, we revere our reflections,
Hope glistens while despair darkens, balance our traits and talents,
Evolve, eradicate the unbalanced existences,
From monstrosity to magnificence humans emerge,
For that, pride may exist, but only an ounce, lead with love.
Reality, like childrens nail polish across my skin;
toxic film that wrinkles when I move my hand to reach for the television remote.
Like a ghostly pretense,
or an old man's hand
that's only a membrane stretched over bones which have bent and cracked with the cobble stone, peeling paint times.
Humans walk past me in my plastic arm chair,
their bodies being stretched
and ripped
from seconds before into watercolor zombies.
My own saliva wraps around my brain, dripping down into my eyes and turning to milk.
I can't feel the scintillating, raspberry thoughts
bob through my mind and explode into a shower of citrus and wood stain.
From sitting to standing
I can't even feel the transition blow against my skin.
Wading effortlessly through my existence
I accidentally wiggle my hands into the holes of reality, and then I sit down again;
that rusty red moment
in which I could see through my eyelids is gone
and will only come again
when another travels towards me in a catholic caravan.